


may all the dark inside you find light again

by SparkleMoose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Lore, Bittersweet, Happy Ending, Multi, The Empty (Supernatural), by which i mean Cas gets to be Big and Terrifying here, listen i do not control what my high school hyperfixation was, this is the only spn fic i will ever write and its for the Gays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27708863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/pseuds/SparkleMoose
Summary: Dean is in love.Dean is in love and he's going to get his angel back, space time be damned.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	may all the dark inside you find light again

**Author's Note:**

> im going to give the gays the happy ending they deserve  
> note: i have not watched supernatural after season 5. i dont know shit. i did watch the finale but thats it. i just wanted to see the trainwreck but was filled with primordial rage. so here.  
> dont ask me for anything ever again.

Castiel is dead. Castiel is dead; dead from Dean’s hubris, dead because he loves - loved - Dean and dead because Castiel had dared to believe in Dean. Dared to think that Dean was worth facing death for the final time, dared to think that Dean was worth facing the Empty alone.

Castiel is dead, and Dean is left without a piece of his soul.

* * *

It doesn’t hit right away, neither the grief nor the rage. The idea that Castiel would not be coming back does not settle in until he’s alone, until Sam has gone to bed weeks after Castiel has died and Dean is left staring at the empty kitchen in the bunker and thinking:

I wish Cas was here.

The thought stops Dean in his tracks. The finality of it settles over him like the weight of a coffin. The realization that Castiel is dead, that he’s not coming back, not this time, not ever again, punches the breath out of Dean’s lungs and Dean finds himself holding onto a wall to keep himself upright.

He’s gone, it’s a mantra in Dean’s mind. A plea, a widow’s prayer that falls like heavy stones into water when they get the news their husband is dead.

He’s gone, Dean thinks and he can’t help the strangled sob that tears itself out of his throat.

* * *

Grief is a heavy thing, it drags Dean under and he can feel himself change, can feel the simmering fury and sorrow under his skin itch to break out. He wants to break something, to turn the world hollow because Castiel didn’t deserve this.

Castiel deserves better than the death of a meaningless side character in one of the books Sam used to read, Castiel deserves better than to be tossed aside, to be left alone.

Dean is not a praying man, has not given thought to God or Heaven ever since Chuck, but there are times Sam speaks of nebula, of atomic charge and dark matter. When Sam speaks to the nature of the universe as if he means something more than whatever the heavenly authority dictates.

Dean is not a praying man, but he so desperately wants Castiel again that at night he looks to the countless stars in the sky and the want in his chest almost breaks him. If he prays then, it’s to the only angel that ever listened.

I love you, Dean thinks. I loved you, I still love you. You deserve better. I’m sorry.

The love in Dean’s chest aches.

* * *

“I want him back,” Dean tells Sam one day, after a Hunt. They are bloodied and tired and Dean keeps looking for the telltale sign of a tan trench coat that he knows he won’t find.

Sam looks at him, as though he can’t believe it’s taken Dean this long to come to that conclusion.

“Well,” Sam says, “Then what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says, “But I have to do something.”

I can’t leave him, Dean doesn’t say.

Sam hears it anyway.

* * *

Humans are not marvellous creatures. They are small and fragile, delicate in the grand scheme of things. They cannot break through fissures in space-time, cannot pull stars down from the sky for their loved ones. They cannot bend reality or remake it. They are merely human.

And that is what makes them glorious. For humans are stubborn people, and if they want something, if they love something enough, they are willing to try anything.

It shouldn’t surprise anyone then, that Dean is willing to do anything to get Castiel back.

* * *

It’s dark. It’s dark and the cold clings to Dean’s bones as he walks through the Empty. A thread that ties him to his brother's soul is the only thing that is allowing him to exist in the space called the Empty.

“Castiel,” he calls out into the dark, “Castiel, I’m here. Let’s go home.” There is a gruttal groaning to his left, inhuman and ringing with the candor of hundreds of bells. Dean knows that voice, knows that ringing in his head and he spins around to find a mass of dark sliding over a being made of light. 

Castiel, Dean thinks and steps toward the writhing mass of dark and light. "Castiel," Dean says again, offering a hand to the being, "Let's go home."

_Dean,_ the ringing in his ears sing, _Dean leave, Dean leave, they want you, they cannot have you-_

"I'm not leaving," Dean says, "Not without you."

_Stupid_ , Castiel calls him, form trembling even as the dark around him falls to the ground. Castiel stands, tall and monstrous. The diamond shape making up his head tilting to the side as he stares down at Dean. As he looks at Dean as though he expects Dean to run.

Dean does not run. 

_Stupid_ , Castiel calls him again, but there is a fondness in the ringing of his voice. He kneels before Dean, his legs in this form too long and spindly, and Dean gets the feeling Castiel is blinking at him even without eyes. Behind Castiel his wings spread out dark and shimmering with iridescent light.

"I'm not leaving without you."

They still want you, Castiel tells him, I cannot leave with you.

A knife comes out Dean's pocket and he holds it to his hand. "They want a piece of me?" Dean's laughter is dry. "They can have one, but we're leaving."

The knife digs into Dean's hand before Castiel can stop him. Sharp and painful, Dean hisses as his blood flows from the wound and scatters through the Empty. He drops his knife, and when he looks at Castiel his smile is crooked.

"Let's go, sweetheart," Dean says, offering his hand to the angel in front of him.

Castiel is speechless.

He puts his too large hand with it's too long fingers in Dean's hand anyway.

* * *

“Castiel,” Dean says, laughing when as they stumble into a field too far from where Sam is waiting for them, "Castiel," Dean says again, the angels name falling from his lips like a hymn, like a song, like an oath of worship. "Castiel."

Castiel looks at him, from the spot on the ground they had both fallen too. His blue eyes are kind and exhausted and Dean loves him.

"I love you," Dean says, "I love you."

"I know," Castiel says, "I love you too."


End file.
